


Blood Ties

by Sonora



Series: Werewolf!verse [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dysfunctional Family, M/M, Multi, Permanent Injury, When good plans go bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9088864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonora/pseuds/Sonora
Summary: Some people take better to the change than others.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [will_o_wisp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/will_o_wisp/gifts).



> Yes, it's another "why Scott left and now he gets cuddles when he comes back" story. But, like, with werewolves. I like our tropes. And werewolves.

Oblivion Bay, since the war ended, has been an absolute nightmare. The fallen jaegers here transformed into tourist attractions, the fear of the war years given way to an obscene nostalgia for the machines that fought the monsters.

Well, the machines and the pilots.

Bit hard to call them men.

Scott feels a bit weird, coming here, being here, like this. Disgraced jaeger pilot. The one who went walkabout, and just never came back. But his fake ID and the lingering paralysis to the left side of his face, the hard years he’s spent eking out a living in the rough mining towns of the Outback, are enough to erase any resemblance to the cocky twenty-six year old jaeger pilot he’d once been. 

He gets in without incident. Through the nominal security, into the massive indoor discovery center with its exhibits on the bloody past and glorious future. So many promises the PPDC suits have crammed in here; manned spaceflight, underwater exploration, reconstruction... all with scaled down suits and technology, of course. Without the Drift. Without the pilots. 

He ignores it, and heads for the back hangar, where the massive space enclosing a simulated Shatterdome repair floor opens up onto the Bay itself.

Why the PPDC flew the jaegers here to begin with, Scott’s still not sure. The audio tour he purchased is pure pablum, insisting that it was because program scientists wanted all spare parts easily accessible. Scott remembers at least one conversation about how the US was the only country willing to accept the risk presented by dead machines with dead nuclear hearts. 

The mood inside is raucous; out here, it’s a bit more somber. Almost every country on the Pacific Rim, and many from Europe, were involved in building and fielding the jaegers. There’s respect here, amongst the visitors. Even the normally belligerent Chinese and Russian tourists shut up here. 

It’s rather like walking through a grave yard.

Unsettling. 

But he keeps moving forward. He needs to see her. He just... needs to see her.

Tucked in amongst the headless, wrecked jaegers are round pavilions housing perfect replicas of a few select conn-pods. Romeo Blue, Cherno Alpha, Striker Eureka, Crimson Typhoon, Gipsy Danger, Gipsy Danger on her Ptifall rebuild. And, of course, there’s Lucky Seven. The only jaeger with her original pod on display.

Scott’s been trying to work up the courage to make it out here for at least a year, since the exhibit opened. Fuck, he’s missed Lucky, their Lucky, the last bond he has with his brother. They don’t even have the same blood any more, but Lucky being put back together... 

Well, if Scott was hoping it would make him feel whole again, he’s mistaken.

Lucky Seven’s one of the first generation of jaegers, and she was never as well-known here in America, so she's a bit more of a walk to reach. She’s tucked in at the back end of the open portion of the bay, sea air blowing across her hull. It doesn’t seem right seeing her like this, her battle-scarred torso propped up straight and her conn-pod oddly whole, perched in combat configuration on her shoulders. The line at her access tower is non-existent; the security guard waves Scott through and he walks the six flights of stairs straight up, into the cockpit he once shared with his older brother.

It’s dead silent in here, the central control harness roped off almost half-heartedly, as if they know nobody’s going to be running in here whooping with excitement and eager to jump onto the treads. Feels strange being inside of her without a drive suit on, but he’s pleased to see they’ve done a good job with her restoration. The view screen is displaying a high-def image of Sydney Harbor, where she used to deploy. The instrumentation is perfect, right down to that piece of duct tape Herc once slapped over the secondary hydraulic system warning light because the damn thing just wouldn’t shut off.

He smiles, seeing it. 

At least Herc still cares about their girl.

Lucky isn’t exactly the same, though. The claw marks on the back-up oxygen tank are gone. The broken instrument panel, the one Herc punched through that time, is smooth and flat. The blood on the floor grates has been washed away. 

“Scott?”

He turns, shaken out of his reverie by the sound of his name. 

And, fucking hell, of course. It’s Herc. Back in his flight suit. Stars on his shoulders. Eyes gold in the half-darkness of the conn-pod. Power radiating off of him that even the weak echo of the blood left in Scott is stirred by. Of course. Herc’s not just the Marshall of the PPDC now, is he? He’s an alpha. He’s _the_ alpha.

“Herc,” he says faintly. 

“Scotty, c’mon, don’t do that.”

Was he backing up? He was probably backing up. His face is on fire, and there’s a migraine building now behind his left eye and this was stupid, stupid, stupid. He can’t look his brother in the face. “Didn’t know you were in town.”

“Had some meetings with the seppos this week.” Herc’s not moving away from the door, and hell, Scott wants to run. How the hell did Herc know he was here? Smell him or some shit like that? “And the pups wanted to see Bruce and Trev.”

“Just my luck, eh?”

“Fuck,” Herc says, right in front of Scott now, fingers just hovering over Scott’s left cheek, nose not far behind. Scenting it, Scott knows, and these are not things Scott ever expected to associate with his brother. “This never healed up? They said it was supposed to be temporary.”

“Took me a month to get use of m’ hand back.” _You fucking idiot_ , he wants to add. But what good will that do? Herc had one of the easiest turnings Tamsin said she ever saw, fucking reveled in the change, the new power, the increased strength and speed and visual acuity and instincts and everything that was supposed to make you a better pilot. And there Scott was himself, the fucking bite wound refusing to heal up for like a week, not that Herc had paid that much attention to it, and then they'd gone out on that last deployment.

“I didn’t know. If I’d had any idea, I never...”

“Save it. There was a war on,” Scott grumbles, and finds the courage to look his brother in the eye. “And you wanted it.”

Herc doesn’t flinch, but that glow does go out of his eyes. The normal, human blue reasserting. “I wanted us to have it. Together.”

“You’ve got Chuck now, don’t you?”

“But you left.”

“How were we supposed to drift, after that? After your body took to the change and mine rejected it? After it landed me in fucking hospital?”

“You didn’t have to leave.”

“I wasn’t pack.”

That muscle in Herc’s jaw twitches, but of course, arsehole that he is, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Doesn’t dispute it. 

Just stares at him.

Eyes glowing again.

Scott just sighs, shakes his head. 

Fucking werewolves.

“Is Chuck in town?” 

"Of course."

"Reckon I should probably say hello."

"That would be nice."


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey Chuck, get up. Pull your skin back on.”

“Yancy, we’re busy here.”

“Sorry, Alpha, but he’s got a phone call.”

Chuck lays his head over on Bruce’s knee, tawny-red fur brushing so wonderfully against the smooth skin, to glare up at the beta wolf. Yancy has his serious face on - he has his serious face on a lot - and that’s just no good when there’s chin scratches to be had. And besides, Max is snoring away right against his side. What’s he supposed to do? Disturb his dog?

“Chuck, phone call!”

Chuck’s pack brother is a dark grumpy mass against the bright backdrop of the wide windows, overlooking the grounds. The Gage family estate sprawls out over fifty acres of land right on the edge of Sonoma. Trespasser had gone south towards LA, not north, when it hit San Francisco, so wine country was spared. The gradual exodus from the coastal areas during the war, however, had left wide swaths of land uncultivated for years. It’s starting to come back now, but the Gages had used the opportunity to add to their family’s holdings. 

They do grow some wine here - the humans positively cream themselves over the Romeo Blue Reserve Cabernet, and their Single Field Riesling did very well on the competition circuit this year. But more to the point, the Gages have the land for the land. Lots of room to run. Same reason their great-great-grandfather bought it when he came out West, fleeing hunters back in Bavaria. Bruce and Trevin were born wolves, one of only two drift pairs in the entire PPDC.

Chuck wonders sometimes what that would have been like. To be like this all his life. Not that he remembers all that much about being human. It was a long time ago, and it scarcely matters anymore anyway. This, them, what he is, it’s home. Smells of home.

“Yeah, yeah, get stuffed, I know,” Yancy yawns, and holds out the cell phone. “It’s Herc. Says it’s important.”

It doesn’t really matter if it’s important or not. Chuck hasn’t been able to disobey an order from Dad since he was fifteen. He shifts as he rolls, pushing up on human feet off the cool Spanish tile floor. Max, lazy spud that he is, just flops back down in the pool of sunlight and keeps snoring away.

Yancy presses the phone into Chuck’s hand. And smacks him on the arse.

Chuck rolls his eyes, but answers the phone.

“Dad?”

“You boys decent?”

Chuck frowns. _Boys_? Fuck, does this mean that they’re getting invited to some... _thing_ tonight? That would suck. Chuck hates all that political bullshit. “Umm, we could be?”

“Have clothes on when I get back. ETA fifteen minutes.” And Dad hangs up.

“What’d he say?”

Chuck looks over at Yancy and tosses him back the phone. “Not much. He’s headed back here apparently. Said he’ll be here in about fifteen minutes. Said we should be dressed.”

Bruce wraps an arm around Chuck’s waist, pulling him back into all his solid bulk, letting him feel every inch of his human form. “Did he say why?” the American rumbles.

“No, Alpha,” Chuck replies. “I reckon he’s got a human with him, though.”

Bruce slides around Chuck, letting him go and reaching for Yancy at the same time. “Phone,” he orders, and he doesn’t look happy. No wonder. Dad bringing a human, any human, up here, to another alpha’s home unannounced? Yeah, not exactly the done thing. 

Yancy hands over the phone. “He’s got a good reason for whatever he’s doing, Alpha.”

“I’m not questioning the alpha, Yancy,” Bruce says with a sigh. He nods up, towards the upper floor in the Spanish-style house. “Go check on your brother. Last I saw, Trevin was tackling him into bed.”

Yancy nods back and puts an arm around Chuck, all but pulling him away while Bruce jabs at the phone. “Clothes are probably a good idea.”

And yeah, okay, maybe Chuck took a shower after the forest run (not that he needed it, but water on skin is almost as good as wind in fur) and it was just too tempting not to lay out in the sun on the floor and let the California afternoon dry him through. “Fuck clothes,” he grumbles.

Yancy laughs.

Raleigh and Trevin aren’t exactly in bed together. Well, they’re on the bed, but in their fur. Raleigh’s sprawled out flat on his side, Trevin grooming his golden fuzz like he’s an eight week old puppy, Raleigh’s eyes screwed up tight in happiness. From a distance, the damn Beckets look more like Golden Retrievers than wolves but up close, there’s no mistaking what they are. It doesn’t help that Raleigh is a bit of a goofball in his wolf form, a far cry from the rather quiet, steady human man he seems to be.

It is hard to miss, too, Trevin’s missing front leg. That last ride in Romeo took his arm off well above the elbow. Considering that it took the rescue crew almost twelve hours to reach the conn pod through the rubble, and another six to get through the door, he really should have died of blood loss or shock. 

But that was the reason why so many jaeger pilots had accepted the bite. For exactly situations like that. Wolves had always been something of an open secret around the military, Chuck remembers Dad telling him, but nobody in the Class of 2015 had put much stock in it until the Kaidanovskies had shifted in the Kwoon. 

Pentecost had been the first one to ask to be bitten, with Tamsin right there with him. From there, it almost became a rite of passage. Graduate jaeger training, get your wings, become a werewolf. 

Dad and Scott had been rare hold-outs. 

And then, well...

Well Scott’s gone now.

“What’s up?” Trevin asks, shifting back. He had his stump tattooed at one point. A big American flag. Because the seppos do things like that.

“Our alpha’s coming home,” Yancy says.

“He had meetings all afternoon.”

“He said clothes, so no fur, right? Has to be a human,” Chuck replies.

Trevin sighs, and ruffles Raleigh’s ears with his hand. “Well, you pups better get some clothes on, then,” he says. “If Herc said it, Herc said it.”

Born werewolves, leaders of their own pack and widely considered the most powerful wolves in the state, if not in the western half of their country, and they still defer to Dad. Dad, who’s been a wolf for less than a decade.

Chuck tries not to preen every time he thinks of that.

“Clothes, Chuck,” Yancy warns.

And he scuttles off.

Orders are orders.

He isn’t sure where he threw his shirt prior to their little run, and doesn’t turn up by the time he can hear the hire car’s tires hit the gravel of the long driveway, so fuck it, Chuck figures. He wanders downstairs without it. He gets a raised eyebrow from Bruce, but Yancy lets him snuggle in against his side.

Where Chuck would be perfectly happy to stay.

Except that the door’s opening, and it’s definitely a human with Dad, a scent that’s both familiar and undefined. Nervous, sure, but there’s more to it than that.

Definitely a human. 

“Scott,” Bruce says faintly.

“Found him wandering the Bay,” Dad says easily, like it hasn’t been six years since Uncle Scott went AWOL from hospital, as he sloughs off his jacket. Raleigh steps forward to take it, and Chuck doesn’t miss how Scott watches it. “Reckoned...”

“Oh fuck this,” Chuck snaps.

Dad stops, jacket still in hand. “What did you say?”

“I said fuck this. Why is that human here?”

“That’s your uncle, pup,” Dad says, dangerously calm. “Have some respect.”

It’s not that Chuck doesn’t hear the warning note in his voice. He just doesn’t care. Because _seriously_.

“Why? Because this human arsehole decides to waltz back into our lives after pussing out of the bite and wrecking Lucky and fucking going walkabout to gods know where because he was too much of a fucking coward to...”

Dad’s got him by the throat before he can even finish the sentence, twisting him viciously out of Yancy’s arms and slamming him down to the floor. It happens too fast for Chuck to react; the impact knocks the breath out of him and yeah, that _hurts_. But he knows better than to struggle. He can’t keep the whine in, though, and of course, that gets him a really hard shake.

Why does he do this to himself? 

“Herc,” he hears Uncle Scott say, but rolling his eyes back over, he can see Bruce grabbing at him.

And Dad’s eyes are flashing now, and if he’s pissed off and he shifts, even a half shift, when he’s pissed off, and he’s pissed off at some human... well, none of them are going to be able to stop him.

“Dad,” Chuck coughs.

Dad just growls back and shit, he’s gonna shift.

The weird standoff is diffused by - of all things - the sound of Max’s nails clicking on the tile floor, and Max’s nose nudging at Dad’s hand.

“Hey boy,” Dad murmurs, and thank the gods, he lets go.

Chuck doesn’t dare sit up yet, opting to roll over on his side instead, staying small, watching Dad pet Max. His throat aches, but more than that, he can smell the frustration still hanging in the air, and it hurts the wolf in him to know that he angered his alpha. He closes his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. Dad slammed him pretty hard. But it’s his fault, his fault for pissing Dad off.

“You blokes got any beer in this house?” Uncle Scott asks. It sounds very far away.

“Yeah, but I’m not sure if I want to give you one.”

“Get stuffed, Bruce.”

“Scott...”

“A beer would be nice, actually. Why don’t we restart this thing properly?” Dad almost sounds apologetic. Which, of course, he isn’t, because he’s the alpha and doesn’t have to apologize. For anything. Ever. And then Dad looks down at him. “You ready to stop being a bitch?”

“Guess so,” Chuck mutters.

It’s Raleigh, though, who helps him up.

+++++

Following everyone else into the kitchen, Scott isn’t comfortable. He’s never been comfortable around werewolves, even before he was bitten. He still remembers the night Sasha brought it up, after graduation but before that first generation of jaegers was ready for delivery across the Pacific, when most of them were still nursing injuries from their last round of training ops.

_There is reason why everyone but us get fucked up by the machines._

Jaegers operated at the limits of human endurance, and considering the amount of time you had to be in harness... Scott doesn’t blame anybody for accepting the bite. Herc and him held out longer than most, and mostly then, because he didn’t want it.

Why should any of them had had to turn themselves into monsters? He hadn’t signed his humanity away when he joined the Corps. And unlike Herc and most of the rest of the Class of 2015, he wasn’t a career soldier, complete with that _do anything for the mission_ mindset. He’d been working on his welding apprenticeship when Scissure hit, for fuck’s sake, and that only because Herc had sat him down at one point and told him he needed to do more with his life besides smoke pot and surf. Herc was right - like he always is, which is why Scott listened to him - but it wasn’t like Herc had been dealing with the shit he had. He hadn’t been at home those last few years with their old man. No, Herc had fucked off to the Air Force the second he was old enough and Scott had been...

There’s a loud pop.

Scott jumps. 

Bruce is kind of... watching him.

“We don’t really have beer, but we do have a ton of wine,” he says, and holds up the bottle he just uncorked. “This is our winery reserve Bordeaux. We like it. This work?”

“Sure.”

Trevin, who’s getting wine glasses out of some cabinet in this huge fucking kitchen, snorts. “At least you don’t smell like Adderall any more.”

That had been kind of a mistake, but he really had been having a hard time the last year or so in the Corps. Scott sags. It was a mistake coming here. Coming within a thousand miles of these people. “We didn’t all have werewolf constitutions to lean on,” he mutters.

Herc makes a small noise, and Bruce pokes Trevin with his elbow, taking the glasses from him. “What my idiot brother means is good for you. We had a pool going for a while on whether or not you were dead.”

“I win that now, by the way,” the older Becket says easily. He’s practically glued to his younger brother’s side. _The way you and Herc used to be_ , Scott thinks. “Because, like, you’re alive and shit. It’s great.”

“Yance, not helping here,” Herc snaps. 

He steps forward, easily scooping up one of the now-filled wine glasses. He presses it into Scott’s hand, sliding a free arm around his waist at the same time. One smooth move. And that was one thing Herc lacked before the bite; grace. 

Scott pulls back a bit, but Herc just goes with him, nose back at his neck. Scott freezes.

“It’s good to have you back,” Herc murmurs in his ear.

“I’m not staying,” he whispers back.

“We’ll talk about that,” his brother replies, in a tone that clearly indicates he has no intention of talking about this. Herc kisses Scott’s cheek, touching that same spot as he pulls away. Something old and deep stirs in Scott’s chest. That ache. That need. “So tell me, what’ve you been up to? You look good.”

“Can’t complain,” Scott says. A weight settles against his leg, and he looks down to find Max panting adoringly at his feet. He kneels, letting the dog sniff his hand. “Plenty of construction and mining work around.”

He’d bought Max for Chuck when he and Herc were still in training at Kodiak, before the family knew about werewolves, knew that it was a terrible idea to have such a small, breakable dog around. Yet somehow, if that display in the foyer is any indication, Max still has his place in things.

“That where you’ve been? Out west?”

“That’s where the work is,” Scott replies.

“Plenty of work in Sydney,” Chuck interjects.

Scott definitely needs more alcohol before dealing with this shit. It’s good wine, at least. “Didn’t see much reason to go back.”

He can clearly tell that’s not the answer Chuck wants to hear, but before the sprog can get slammed into the floor again, Raleigh starts asking questions about all the _sweaty pretty mining guys_ , and Scott had forgotten that about werewolves.

Pack polyamory is definitely, definitely a thing.

+++++

As weird as it is having Scott here, smelling wrong and looking all rumpled and sad - when in Chuck’s memories, he’s always so bright and perfect - it’s better this then nothing. Then the nothing he’s had for the past eight years.

He’s not sure about that betting pool, though. 

He’ll have to get the details out of Raleigh or Yancy on that later.

For right now, it’s actually quite nice having Scott here. He smells not quite like human, more like Dad does, really, and he doesn’t object when Chuck goes over and leans into his shoulder. 

The conversation about where Scott’s been turn to what Dad was up to today and what the human politicians are bitching about this time. Yancy asks if anybody’s hungry and Raleigh starts rooting through the fridge and Bruce makes an off-handed comment about _you goddamn entitled little alpha pups_ and Raleigh gives him a kiss and tells him not to be jealous that they picked Dad’s pack over theirs.

And somehow, they all end up on the back patio with a mountain of perfectly cooked steaks and the fourth bottle of the afternoon’s wine, watching the sun set with a fire in the fire pit, talking about bullshit war stories, like this is any other night with the pack. 

Like they don’t have a human here with them at all.

When it starts getting dark, however, the new moon rising in a half-ring of light over the eastern mountains, Dad kicks them all off the patio.

“Bruce, if you’d be so kind, another bottle and a bit of space.”

“What do you think Dad’s thinking?” Chuck asks Raleigh in the kitchen, as they’re cleaning up the mess. He might be Dad’s only son, but he’s still junior ranking amongst the pack members here.

Bruce is an alpha in his own right, and Yancy’s won every challenge that’s been issued to him since he first claimed the beta position. Chuck’s considered challenging him, but likes having Yancy around. Besides. He’s not sure he’d win.

“What, you mean about Scott?”

“Yeah, why’s he here?”

“I don’t know, man. He’s your uncle.” Raleigh shrugs. “Always thought pilot teams took the bite in pairs. I know Yancy and I did.”

“Uncle Scott didn’t want it, I think. That’s what Dad said.”

“Yeah, but he smells wrong,” Raleigh begins.

“You wanna know why I left, Herc? That shit, back there. With Chuck.”

Oh. _Oh_. Chuck looks at Raleigh, who just nods, and goes over to turn off the kitchen lights.

“There’s nothing wrong, Scott,” Dad’s saying, outside on the patio.

“Bullshit there’s not.”

“It’s the way things work for us. This is what I am. This is what Chuck is.”

“I know.”

“So what’s your fuckin’ problem?”

“This is why I left. You can’t hurt him, right? You _can_ hurt me.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You can’t promise that. Way you lot are? And after... after what happened...you snap once and my brain’ll explode.”

“You’re going to have another stroke. That was a one off. You’re not even on meds for it.”

“Herc...”

“I’d smell it.”

“The fuck do you know what meds smell like?”

“The docs said it should have killed you. You remember that? _You’re lucky, Ranger Hansen, normally I would expect to see an embolism with the readings we were getting off you._ ”

“It was one of those transitory things.”

“Scott, you’re alive because of the bite. Not despite it.”

“I’m not a werewolf. It didn’t take.”

“There’s something in you. I can fuckin’ smell it.”

“Not enough to stay. A human in a pack? Especially a military pack?”

“You let me worry about that.”

“Is that my brother talking? Or the supreme fucking alpha of the Pacific Rim?”

“It’s honorary, and... how the fuck you’d find out about that?”

Raleigh finally nudges Chuck, nodding back at the doorway out into the rest of the house. Old place like this, the kitchen may as well be a cupboard. “C’mon, man. Let them talk it out.”

Chuck lets his pack brother lay an arm around his shoulders, and pull him away from the upstairs window. “Do you know what happened to Uncle Scott?”

“They didn’t tell us much,” Raleigh says in a quiet voice. “Just that he’d decided to go AWOL after whatever the hell happened on that last deployment.”

“That’s what Dad told me.”

“Sounds like there might be more to it.”

“Yeah. Sounds like.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned my life has exploded? >.


	3. Chapter 3

It was well past dark by the time Dad finally comes back in the house, reeking of booze and grief and something that was not quite wolf.

Chuck had given up staying up for him. Jetlag was a bitch, even for them, and there was nothing pressing. No full moon, no pack meeting. Bruce and Yancy had gone for a run through the foothills and still weren’t back yet. Bruce hadn’t been happy about giving up the Beckets, but like Yancy had reminded him only that morning, _my brother and I aren’t yours to trade, this isn’t fucking football._ As seppos, however, Bruce still seemed to think he had some kind of claim.

Americans did shit like that. Werewolves or not. 

Whatever.

It’s warm in the Gages’ big bed, Raleigh curled around his back and Trevin’s good arm thrown around him. One of the nice things, Trevin had said once, about losing an arm was being able to cuddle without worrying about his fingers falling asleep. And Chuck’s in that happy place between wakefulness and sleep when his ears prick up.

Dad.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, messing with his dress shoes. He had to get all dressed up nice in his uniform today for the brass down at Oblivion Bay. He looked good like that, but Chuck prefers it more when they’re in their fur.

“Hey,” Chuck says, turning around on his back, so he can face his father. 

“You pups didn’t waste any time makin’ yourselves at home, did you?”

“Naw,” Chuck agrees, and stretches a little, as much as he can. “Why would we, Alpha? It all belongs to you anyway.”

Dad snorts, fingers moving up to his shirt. 

Chuck pokes him with a foot. “What’d Uncle Scott have to say for himself?”

“Plenty,” Dad murmurs, stripping his shirt and moving up, stroking Chuck’s thigh under the covers. “How’s your neck?”

“Fine,” Chuck says cautiously. 

“You sleepy?”

“Yeah, naw, I guess?”

“Lovely.”

Dad’s eyes flash gold in the darkness, and oh gods, it’s one of those nights, isn’t it?

There’s a reason why they all sleep naked, after all.

Chuck is a little sleepy, but that’s gone the second Dad’s teeth scrape his neck. Blunt and human, not even partial shift yet, although that will probably change. Chuck groans and kicks off both blankets and bedmates, wanting to get a leg up around his dad’s waist, wanting everything. Dad’s hands tug at his hair and dig at his skin, manhandling him into position with no preamble at all. Chuck’s already hard and every little scrambling movement only makes it deliciously worse, precum smearing against their bellies. Some of their kisses meet but most don’t, because Chuck is well and truly pinned beneath his father’s steely-strong bulk, pressed down and held down as surely as he had been in the hallway that afternoon.

Except this is so much better.

His hips lift on their own, body offering without a single thought to do otherwise, and Dad growls in his ear, nipping hard now, as his grip moves down there. His cock is a iron-hot brand against the crease of Chuck’s thigh and there, there...

Chuck can’t help the yowl that escapes him as Dad shoves home.

Another set of fingers find his nipple as Dad starts thrusting hard; it’s Trevin, pushed up on his shoulder, expression amused. “Markin’ your territory, Alpha?” he teases.

Dad growls, lost in a territorial haze, and slams in.

Chuck moans. “Treeeeeev...”

“You love it,” Trevin laughs, and kisses him. 

Between Trevin’s too-soft touches and Dad’s merciless fucking, Chuck’s in heaven, floating on the pleasure of it all, until, almost as an afterthought, that fullness in his gut explodes and pushes him over the edge. He sobs as he comes untouched, Dad kissing him now again.

Dad sighs into his mouth as his knot expands, locking them together. Chuck can still remember the first time he felt it, the night he got his wings from Jaeger Academy, both the bite and the sex his graduation present. It’s the first thing he got to experience as a wolf. Seven years on now, and it’s still his favorite thing. 

Even if Dad is fuckin’ heavy.

“Mmm, almsot forgot what territorial looks like on you,” Trevin comments at length. Lounging back against the headboard, Raleigh’s snugged up between his legs, sleepy still but smiling. Yancy probably would have just slept through it. “It’s a good look, Alpha.”

Dad licks Chuck’s neck, almost completely relaxed now. “Jeaoulsy’s a bad look on you, Trev.”

“What can I say? There are a few things about the Jaeger Corps I miss,” Trevin replies, absently stroking Raleigh’s hair. “It’s no fun when nobody outranks you.”

Raleigh chuckles. “Why do you think Yancy and me didn’t want to back to Alaska and form our own pack?”

“Brat,” Trevin grumbles, but tilts his face up to kiss him anyway. Raleigh makes a happy little noise and reaches for Chuck’s hand. Chuck squeezes back.

It’s good to have pack.

“Mmm,” Dad says, content, and, scooping a hand under Chuck’s thigh to keep him close, rolls over on his side. His cock is still pulsing hard and swollen deep inside of Chuck; it’s gonna be a while before they can separate, but it is easier to breath when Dad’s not laying on him. “Don’t you insult my pups, Trevin.

“Never, Alpha,” he replies, and pauses. “Speaking of family, how’s Scott doing? He’s welcome to one of the guest bedrooms...”

“I know,” Dad replies. “I already got him settled in one.”

Trevin nods. “Does he need anything? I can go check.”

Dad presses another kiss to Chuck’s shoulder. “You don’t mind if I go spend the night with him, do you pup? After my knot goes down?”

Shaking his head, Chuck catches the expression on Raleigh’s face. The raised eyebrow. 

Then he smells it.

“I, uhh, I could save you the trouble?”

Uncle Scott. Leaning on the door jamb, watching them. Expression completely blank.

Dad rubs Chuck’s shoulder possessively, and gives his brother a look that’s somwhere between annoyance and love. “Don’t have a meltdown on me now.”

“I know how it goes. Remember? I was around for a little while.”

Dad chuckled, and Chuck snuggled closer. “He misses your knot,” he whispers to Raleigh in a big stage whisper.

“Actually, I believe that was one of the reasons he didn’t want the bite,” Dad says sharply, waving Uncle Scott over.

The human looks torn, but comes over anyway. “Do we need to go over that now? With... with everyone?”

“No secrets in my pack.”

“Not pack.”

“Would you cut that bullshit out?”

“All I ever wanted was to be your brother, ‘Le.”

Dad reaches over, takes Uncle Scott’s hand in his own, and guides it down to Chuck’s side. Down his thigh. Around the curve of his arse. “Tell me he’s not the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen.”

Shame is washing off Uncle Scott in acrid waves. “You can’t ask me to...”

“We were always gonna end up here, Scott. Always. After the drift? You know that. You and I did.” Dad’s hand lifts away. Uncle Scott’s stays. “Tell me you haven’t missed us.”

Chuck looks back over his shoulder at his uncle. Raleigh and Trevin, Trevin’s hand still petting Raleigh’s hair, are watching quietly too.

Scott sighs, and leans over, hand wrapping around Chuck’s waist. “I missed watching you grow up, sprog,” he murmurs. “If I hadn’t seen you on the news so much, bein’ a brat, I’d never have believed how big you’ve gotten.”

“Your choice,” Chuck says, wanting to be mad but not really making that work.

Dad huffs and tugs Scott down. “If you’re gonna stay, leave your clothes on the floor,” he growls and lets go, settling back in around Chuck, closing his eyes. 

His uncle hesitates a moment and then, kissing Chuck’s shoulder, sits back up and does as he’s told. Like they all do.

Not because any of them have to. Sure, it’s the way things are in a pack, but then, things are good like that.

+++++

Scott’s almost uncomfortably warm when he wakes in the morning. Hot and squished and...

Well. No wonder.

Orgies hadn’t exactly been regulation pilot bonding activities, back in the PPDC days, but that didn’t mean that they’d been discouraged. Even before Herc had talked him into accepting the bite, Scott had been to a fair number of those. It had even been fun for a while.

Rough sex was never his thing, though. And werewolves typically liked it rough.

Funny. He’d had a reputation for being a heavy drinker, a partier, but that was only because he’d misbehaved in public. In human places. Away from the ‘Dome. 

So this is not the first time Scott’s woken up in the middle of a - for lack of a better term - werewolf puppy pile, with everybody sleeping more or less under the same mess of blankets and pillows.

It is the first time, however, that he hasn’t felt nervous about it.

Which should be strange. 

He hasn’t seen Herc, his family, in years. They’re all they’ve got left, all of Angela’s family and most of theirs wiped out by Scissure. He’s tired of living from paycheck to paycheck, in shit motels and mining camps, alone, cold. Scott doesn’t remember if being alone bothered him before the PPDC, before the drift and the bite and Lucky Seven, but it bothers him now.

 _You’re coming home with me,_ Herc had told him last night. No choice in the matter for him. But really, it’s a relief. 

He’s okay with that.

He might never have wanted to be a werewolf, but he’s prepared to deal with being around them all the time if it means he gets his brother back. If it means he gets to see Chuck again.

Even if things are completely fucked up now, he needs his family back. And he’d never realized just how much until yesterday.

(Cuck was beautiful last night, gasping around his daddy’s cock, sweet and smug in equal measure, but Scott doesn’t even want to think about how fucked in the head he is, if _that’s_ appealing. He can live with it. That’s all. That’s all.)

Both Yancy and Raleigh are asleep on top of Trevin, Chuck wrapped up close in Herc’s arms, all the usual crankiness on his face smoothed out in sleep; he actually looks his age like this. And Max, that gassy little puppy that Scott had brought home from a shelter one day for a still shell-shocked Chuck, is snoring happily at the end of the bed.

It’s too warm to be comfortable. Too stuffed. Too much.

Scott squirms free, finds his pants, and heads downstairs. 

He needs some air.

There’s coffee brewing in the big stone kitchen, Bruce Gage kind of blearily glaring at the giant percolator as it bubbles on the gas range. 

“Morning, Scott,” he says without looking up.

He’s still naked.

His entire back is covered in circuitry scars. So much, it looks like is entire suit, at some point, burned into him.

Scott tries not to stare. “You’re up early.”

“So are you,” Bruce says. “Want some coffee?”

“Yeah why not?” Scott asks, settling down at the counter, on one of the screwtop metal stools. “Black’s fine.”

“It only comes that way in house, man.”

Bruce fixes them a couple huge mugs of coffee, and waves Scott out on the deck. The low California mountains are beautiful this morning, wine country rolling out in muted greens and golds across the hills. It’s cool but not cold, perfect after the heat of the bedroom. He and Herc had stayed out here for hours yesterday, talking, just talking, about everything and not just the werewolf thing.

“You’re going back with them?” Bruce asks, after Scott’s coffee is already half gone.

He squints at his cup. Strong stuff. Good but strong. “Reckon so. Herc wouldn’t hear otherwise.”

“You look like shit.”

“That happens when you’re useless.”

“Yeah, I know. The Air Force had to talk Pentecost down from the ledge, when Trev lost his arm in that last fight. He wanted to court-martial us for disobeying orders. Like it was our fuckin’ fault that kaijuu went into a section of town that hadn’t been evacuated.” Bruce snorts. “He thought our medical expenses shouldn’t be covered.”

Scott remembers seeing that one on the news. Worst loss of life in any US attack since Trespasser. “Loved the man when he was a pilot,” he agrees, “but Pentecost pulled some shit during his tenure as Marshall.”

“He was big on discipline and short on patience,” Bruce replies. “Most alphas are like that. Especially the ones who aren’t born.”

Alpha. Yeah, Scott remembers that. He rubs at the scarred-up skin of his neck, where everything fell apart. “How was it? Growing up... like this?

“It is what we are, my family. We’ve never been anything else. I’m not sure what you want me to compare it to,” Bruce says, almost serene. He sips at his coffee. “Was it really that bad, for you?”

He’d been over all this with Herc. Last thing he wants to do is mull it over again. “Dunno. Wasn’t anything I wanted, really. We had Chuck to keep safe, and his dog, and I liked Herc the way he was. I liked us the way we were.”

“Is he that different?”

And... no. 

No he wasn’t, actually. 

Not in any way that mattered.

He was pretty much who he’d been before. Just more so.

Now.

“He was pretty keyed up that first week. Very aggressive. I couldn’t keep him calm, sex didn’t seem to help...”

“So you guys were, before...”

“No. He wouldn't. And I know wolves are indiscriminate but...”

“Polyamorous,” Bruce corrects.

“Whatever. Herc was borderline violent, and here I am with a neck wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding, weak as a kitten, unable to do much.” Scott sighs. “There were a few nights I thought he’d hurt Chuck.”

“Look man, I’m not going to blow smoke up your ass and say no werewolf’s ever hurt a human kid. It sucks, it happens, just the way it is.”

“Just the way it is?”

“Just the way it is. So we gotta be careful.” His eyes flick over Scott. “Wasn’t my idea to turn everyone in the program. Remember? Not everybody can handle this.”

“Yeah, like me.”

“Scott, listen, cause this is important.” Bruce sets his mug on the deck, leaning forward in his chair. “The bite takes, or it kills. One of the two. There is no third option. I have literally never heard of anybody getting bitten and not turning and living through it. That’s why I normally refuse anybody who asks, and why I wasn’t in on that shit. Too much risk.”

Scott stares out at the hills, trying to process that. “What does that mean?” he asks.

Bruce shrugs and picks his coffee mug back up. “I don’t know, man. You gotta figure that out for yourself, I guess. But going home with Herc’s a good idea.”

“Yeah,” Scott replies, taking a deep breath. _You’re coming home_ , Herc had said. You’re coming home. “Yeah, I guess so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long to finish! Gah, I'm trying here!

**Author's Note:**

> Eh gawd, I can't finish anything I've started this year... but this is going to be short! I swear I will get this one done!
> 
> (And yes, it's angsty. But I figured out what the Fulcrum is over in the Blacklist fandom and this is much, much better than letting myself write that story.)


End file.
